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There comes a point in every child’s life when they realise their parents are actually just people. Real human beings with flaws, insecurities and, yes, even desires. We tend to shroud this reality in a fuzzy haze of delusion well into adulthood. And for the most part we’re happy to do so.

But such ignorant placidity does not last forever. And for me it all came crashing down just over a year ago when my dad started writing porn.

Now, I’m all for my father exploring his creative voice – what better way to spend your retirement than writing your first novel? But porn. Really? Sex is not something you ever want to read from the guy who taught you how to ride a bike.

When, at a family gathering, I was gleefully ushered into the study and asked if I’d mind reading some draft pages of a novel he’d been writing, I had no idea of the horror awaiting me. To the contrary, I was genuinely excited. It was only a few days later, as I was perusing the pages, that I discovered he had written full-blown dad-erotica.

For all the points Dad misses on his mission to arouse, Belinda Blinked makes up for in downright hilarity.

Jamie Morton

Belinda Blinked, a racy novel about the sexual exploits of pots and pans sales director Belinda Blumenthal, is a departure for my dad. A millennial before his time, he’s donned many guises and worn many hats, from salesman to builder, teacher to geologist. But this was his first outing as a writer, and as such he was forced to go down the self-publishing route. I mean, who would ever publish such dreck? Making it available on iTunes and Kindle for a couple of quid seemed innocuous enough. The risk of anyone I knew reading it was slim to zero, especially given the creative pen name he’d adopted: Rocky Flintstone.

It’s a truth universally acknowledged that no one should be subjected to the sexual fantasies of their 60-year-old father. Yet by throwing my better judgment, and lunch, to the wind, here’s what I discovered: Belinda Blinked is genius.

Jamie with his dad when he was a little boy

Not Steinbeck genius, but my goodness it’s better than E L James. For one thing, there’s never a dull moment. For all the points Dad misses on his mission to arouse, Belinda Blinked makes up for in downright hilarity. It’s that naive kind of funny, that magical brand of humour that can only be born from a complete lack of awareness. The sex is random and misguided, with choice quotes including “her breasts hung like pomegranates” and “he grabbed her cervix”. If my three sisters and I didn’t exist, I’d genuinely question whether my dad had ever had sex.

People often ask me what my initial reaction was upon reading his magnum opus. It’s hard to answer because, as advanced as the English language is, I’m not sure we’ve yet found a word to express it. It was a complex mixture of shock, shame, disgust and pride. Yes, I am proud of him. Although the book is wrong on so many levels, it’s also wonderfully bold and more than a little courageous. I admire the way he’s said, sod it, I’m just going to write what I want. And frankly, if you knew my mother, you’d award him even more bravery points. Mrs Flintstone is a formidable woman. Staunchly feminist, she infuses everything she does with purpose, whether it’s running multiple businesses or raising four kids, and it’s fair to say she’s not a fan of Belinda Blinked. Not that she isn’t supportive; she’d just rather her husband resisted the urge to write porn. Not an unreasonable request.

But here’s the thing. As I delved further into the depths of the novel, it became clear that I had gold in my hands. Something had to be done.

That something turned out to be a podcast creatively titled My Dad Wrote a Porno. I roped in two mates, James Cooper and Alice Levine, we bought a microphone each and started recording around Alice’s kitchen table. The concept was simple. Each week I’d narrate a chapter and we would chime in as and when was necessary with our critique. Or our mantra of “saying out loud what everyone listening would be thinking”.

The podcast has been a runaway hit, and as a result my dad’s porn has probably been the best gift he’s ever given me (if you discount the Tracy Island playset I unwrapped on Christmas Day in 1992). The beauty of the podcast, as with the book itself, lies in its unpredictability. One moment Belinda is handcuffed to a trellis in a “medium-sized maze”, the next she’s at a charity tombola raising funds for the Asses & Donkeys Trust. Just when you feel you have the measure of his writing, you’re thrown a curve ball. It’s what keeps audiences engaged and me nauseous. Not exactly win-win, but I’m happy to take one for the team.

And what of his writing? The man’s turn of phrase has been kindly referred to as “unorthodox”; one character’s nipples are described as being “as large as the three-inch rivets which held the hull of the fateful Titanic together”. And such eye-watering imagery being juxtaposed with inexorable dullness is what truly elevates the book to art. Whole chapters go by with not so much as a grope behind an inkjet printer and Rocky often forgoes sex altogether in favour of elaborate tangents regarding “elegant wooden coat hooks”.

Here’s the alchemy of Belinda Blinked: its ineptitude is its charm, and its charm is its genius. It is utterly non-threatening and I think one of the reasons for the podcast’s success is that people are able to project their own father onto Rocky Flintstone. There is warmth throughout the book, it’s affectionate, it’s even freakishly comforting. Indeed, as I read on, my revulsion diminished. I don’t know if I simply became desensitised to the whole caper but suddenly the Duchess removing a leather dildo from its zinc-lined case didn’t seem so shocking.

It’s true that the reception to the podcast has been incredible. With more than a million downloads, and celebrity fans including Elijah Wood, it’s been a very exciting time. But for me it’s been more than iTunes chart positions and Twitter followers. It’s been an oddly personal, life-changing journey for me and my dad. It’s been about us working together, and how Belinda Blinked has pushed him off the pedestal I’ve had him on for so many years. For the first time I’ve been able to see him for who he really is: a creative, mad scientist of language trapped in the body of a man who has always put providing for his family before his own creative desires.

And I respect that. I’m thrilled that his true voice has finally been set free. There’s something about the fact that the very thing that on paper should have driven us apart has actually brought us closer together. And for that I’ll always have to be grateful to Rocky Flintstone. After all, he’s just a person too.